


Color of Wine

by The_Last_Kenobi



Series: Whumptober 2020 [17]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Mind Manipulation, Secret Relationship, Whump, Whumptober 2020, dark au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27045835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Last_Kenobi/pseuds/The_Last_Kenobi
Summary: Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala had a love to cross the stars.But not everything is as it appears, and Anakin walks into his home to find Darkness.Written for Whumptober 2020Day 17 - Dirty Secret
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Series: Whumptober 2020 [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956463
Comments: 12
Kudos: 65





	Color of Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Posting early because I'm impatient, and also my schedule for the next week is crazy.

Anakin closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath.

The _Resolute_ had just docked on Coruscant. The slight thud that resonated through his body on the impact was more jarring than it should have been, with all the finality of a funeral drum.

They were home on leave, after five months on campaign in the Middle Rim.

“Goodbye sir!”

“See you, General.”

“Enjoy leave, General Skywalker!”

“General.”

“Have fun, eh?”

“Goodbye!”

His troops called out cheerful farewells, heading off to their own designated quarters for the duration of the stay. Most of them were cheery—leave was rare and valued, and often involved a lot of merrymaking and drinking. A few were lucky enough to boast steady partners waiting for them. Two whole weeks with them lay ahead.

Anakin knew that they all knew about his own partner.

His marriage.

They made sly jokes and pretended to turn blind eyes to his “secretive” comm calls, the way Senator Amidala watched him and he watched her back.

He wished he were as happy about his illicit relationship as his troops were.

Or, better yet, that he could somehow forget about it entirely—like someone else he knew.

But Obi-Wan was far away, as was the comfort of his friendship…and his ignorance.

Anakin took another shuddering breath, and set out for 500 Republica.

* * *

The door opened at his touch, recognizing his bio signs. The familiar apartments were mostly dark; a few glittering amber lanterns cast pools of warm light across the beautiful rooms, the expensive furniture, the hand-selected artwork, the sofa where he and his wife often sat, limbs entangled, breath mingling, and talked for hours.

Well.

She did most of the talking.

“Anakin?”

And there she was. Padmé Amidala emerged from the shadowy bedroom, an angel wrapped in silken robes of deep purple and a gossamer robe of midnight blue, heightening the appearance of her alabaster skin and fountain of dark waves, today styled loose and innocent down her back.

“My love,” Anakin said, striding across the room.

Her expression was distant and cool until he reached her, gently took her slender hands in his, and knelt at her feet.

Then she smiled.

It was, as always, both the loveliest and the most horrifying sight he had ever seen.

She lifted her hands away from his and began running them through his wavy, golden-brown hair, her touch possessive and hot as fire. Despite himself, Anakin leaned into the touch.

“Anakin,” his wife whispered. “Come sit with me.”

 _Oh, no_.

Fighting not to tremble, Anakin rose with a gallant smile and offered the petite angel his arm, which she accepted, and escorted her to that sofa. It was a pretty thing, all smooth angles and shimmering fabric, and it was not as comfortable as it appeared. Not by a long shot.

He seated himself first and then spread his legs and draped one arm on the edge of the sofa, allowing Padmé to easily settle half beside him, half in his lap, her own arm coming to rest on top of his. Their legs were neatly tangled, their chests side by side, their faces inches apart.

“Anakin.”

“My love?” he said quietly.

“Ohhh,” she tutted, reaching up to stroke his cheek. Her breath, ghosting across his face, smelled of wine and sunlight and sweetbreads. “Darling. So hesitant. Be honest with me, beloved. Tell me you know why we’re here.”

Anakin swallowed hard. “I…”

There was a dreadful pause.

He tried to speak, he really did. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he mouthed soundlessly, frantically trying to summon up the right words to fix what he had done.

He took too long.

Padmé’s free hand came up out of nowhere and struck him hard across the same cheek she had just caressed. Anakin’s head snapped to the side. As he turned shakily back to look at her, she touched his face again, and a sensation like ice spread across his blossoming bruise, soothing the pain—erasing the damage so that no one would ever see.

“ _Anakin_ ,” she crooned, still just as ethereal and lovely. “You know that we both know what you did. And I have warned you about this, repeatedly.”

“ _Please_. I never meant to—”

He stops as her hand curls in his hair, seeming gentle, but digging her nails warningly into his scalp. “Your reckless, careless ways are just as bad as you deliberately telling someone our secret, darling. You came very, very close to letting Ahsoka know. She is very fortunate that it was a mistake, and that I knew she didn’t discover the truth—or she would be dealing with far worse than a false arrest.”

“Will you…” Anakin wet his lips nervously. “…will you let her go? Eventually?”

Padmé raised her dark eyebrows in completely false astonishment. “Me? Interfere with our courts? Our justice system? No, no, no. Ahsoka Tano will be punished as the tribunal decides, my love. I think she’ll go free in the end. You are, after all, free to try and prove her innocence. I have little fondness for the true culprit, useful as they were to me.”

Her husband felt tears threatening. Thinking of his Padawan, waiting alone in a cell, framed for murder twice over. I’ll get you out, he told her fiercely in his mind. I will.

He can’t lose her.

Can’t fail his bright-eyed, loving, reckless apprentice.

He _will_ prove her innocence.

Anakin will do whatever he must for Ahsoka’s safety.

The delicate, doe-eyed wife smiled again, sensing his line of thinking.

“Now…Obi-Wan.”

The temperature dropped ten degrees.

“My love—”

She pressed her fingers to his lips to silence him, still smiling that sweet, unnerving smile. “Once again, you allowed that man to discover the truth. You drop deliberate hints, darling. You’re weak in front of him. Soft. You think you _love_ him, this _pretend brother_ of yours, your former, useless, _light-filled_ Master.”

A dark look passed through her eyes, like the shadow of clouds reflected in a moonlit lake.

“He realized the truth _again_. You know he is only useful to me in his capacity to be a beacon for the Republic and the Jedi in this war of ours, and, naturally, as leverage over you. It used to be so effective, Anakin. But if you allow him to come to the truth _one more time_ , I will do far worse than a kidnapping and a selective memory wipe.”

_Far worse?_

Obi-Wan had been missing for two months this time.

Anakin recalled the unbridled terror he had felt when he realized that his Master had been snatched off the battlefield, when he had understood that it was happening _again_.

The torture had brought Obi-Wan to the threshold of death itself, and while the memories of what he had discovered about Padmé were lost, the Jedi Master would never, ever recover from what he experienced in those caves—

Padmé kissed him, her lips light and soft and sensual on his. “I will kill him, Ani. It will be slow, and painful, and he will be stripped of his dignity and sanity before I _let_ him die. And Obi-Wan would just be the first. Ahsoka, Rex, Cody…I’ll get around to all of them. You know I will.” Another kiss. “Don’t you, darling?”

Anakin kissed her back, desperate for her affection, desperate to somehow persuade her to be merciful.

“Yes,” he gasped.

She moved her kisses up to his forehead, then down again, trailing all the way to his neck. “So?”

“So…” his breath stuttered as she sucked lightly on his skin, her teeth grazing him, a promise and a threat. “…I will do better. I will keep your secret—our secret. You won’t have to resort to anything else.”

“ _Very_ _good_ , Ani,” she praised him.

When she rose and offered him her delicate hand to lead them into the bedroom, her eyes were burning, molten gold above her frightening and alluring smile. “Come to bed, darling,” said Sith Lord and Master Apaté, more commonly known as Senator Padmé Amidala. “Let’s celebrate our coming victory.”


End file.
